Chapter Two
Sonia stared up into dark, liquid eyes, into a face that could have been the model for some starkly beautiful renaissance saint.
No, that was wrong. Those eyes were too knowing for any saint. And that mouth... More likely a fallen angel.
Warmth spread from her palm, up her arm and once more she felt her skin flush in confusion. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed before today. This man made her feel like some gawky innocent, way out of her depth.
Except there’s nothing innocent about your reaction to him, is there?
What a time for her dormant, almost non-existent libido to surge to life.
Sonia jerked her hand free and it was only then, watching her hand slip away from his bare arm, that she realised her arm was bare too.
How had she not even noticed she was half-naked? No man, not even Eric at his most determined, had distracted her like this.
Spinning on one bare foot she scooted back the way she’d come and grabbed her shirt, shoving her arms in the sleeves and hauling it high. It stuck to her damp skin but she didn’t care. She buttoned every button there was, even on the cuffs, then turned.
The Italian stood precisely where she’d left him, wearing a towel and a look of appreciation.
Because she’d given him an eyeful.
‘You could have told me!’ Sonia struggled with the final button, grateful for the blast of annoyance. It punctured the sensual thrall that had gripped her since she saw him.
Thismustbe down to jetlag. She’d never reacted to a man this way!
But then how many naked sex gods have you come across?
‘Forgive me.’ That deep voice was like dark treacle smoothing over the sharp edges of her discomfort. ‘You took me by surprise.’
The gleam in his eyes belied the words. But Sonia told herself she had more important things to sort out. A man who casually continued sipping coffee instead of covering his own nakedness probably thought nothing of seeing a stranger half-dressed.
Had she ever met anyone so supremely confident about their body?
Annoyed at the direction of her thoughts, Sonia focused on her shoes. She slipped them on, torn between relief at the extra height they gave and discomfort at the pinch against her tired toes.
‘Shall we sit?’ He gestured to the plush sofas grouped around the fireplace.
Instantly and despite her best intentions, Sonia’s gaze darted to the towel slung low around his hips. She imagined it gaping as he sat down, and the distracting sight of bare, muscled thighs.
‘That won’t be necessary. Thank you.’ She pinned on a calm expression though inside she was a churning mess. ‘I’m sure this can be sorted out. There’s obviously been a mistake.’
But he was already closing the distance between them, stopping just out of arm’s reach as if, belatedly, respecting the need for some boundaries.
‘You haven’t told me your name.’
‘Rossi. Sonia Rossi.’
One dark eyebrow tilted. ‘An Italian name, yet you don’t speak Italian?’
‘My father was Italian but he married an Australian and I grew up there.’
A tiny wrinkle marked the olive skin of his forehead as if he was concerned by what she’d said. ‘And he didn’t teach you Italian?’
Sonia opened her mouth to say her family situation was none of his business, but sensed that wouldn’t deter further questions. ‘My father left a long time ago. He came back to Italy and eventually died here.’